


Yours, Yes

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-15
Updated: 2003-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Boromir needs to get out of his system.  Aragorn helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, Yes

_"Give."_

"...no..."

 _"Give. Now."_

"No--"

Teeth dig hard into fingers; the fingers only grip harder, and breath comes faster. The scent of dirt and sweat comes hard to both as the one free hand gropes under jackets and velvet for trousers, tugging at laces and pulling down fabric.

"Mine."

A muffled grunt; a head shakes hard. Lips trace the shell of an ear.

 _"Mine."_ A whisper, complete with another rough squeeze of fingers over lips and jaw. Fingers pressing in, and hips arching back to meet them. "Mine." A satisfied whisper; the fingers leave lips to trace down to throat and grasp there, lightly, teasing.

Hard, sharp thrust; an inch, if that, hard-won, hard-given. The soft mewl is stifled with an angry grunt, and hips arch back. A head falling onto a strong, shaking shoulder, with several soft pants. Another thrust, and another answering press of hips. Teeth sink into the flesh and bone of shoulder. Last inches taken with pants and bites and hard, quivering shudders.

Soft tears, curving lines over cheeks, falling onto fingers-on-throat.

"Mine," whispered into that ear, "always, mine."

And finally, a shaking _"Yes."_

Rough, fast movement, until the hand comes back to lips; soft, panted moans, muffled by fingers and sweat-scented leather. A startled, begging cry, and its answering mate; collapse.

"Mine," in the darkness.

A quiet nod of head; agreement.

An affectionate tousle of hair. "Fight me harder, next time."

Collapse, again, if it were possible. A shuddering nod.

The press of lips to the back of neck; the taste of salt on skin. "Beautiful. Mine."

"...yours. Yes."

"Rest now. The dawn is upon us all too soon."

Relief as the weight lifts. Sighs as the ache from emptiness becomes the ache from having been filled.

Tears as eyes stay closed, wanting to hold back the dawn.


End file.
